Maria
by ConcoctionMaster
Summary: Talia had erased her from memory. Bane spends every free thought wondering if she still exists. How long will it take for him to realize that what he'd been searching for has dropped into his clutches? More importantly how long will it take this anonymous woman to regain lost memories of the past? and once regaining them will it be the key to saving Gotham from annihilation?
1. Chapter 1

_Past_

Hidden in the depths of a desert, amongst scorching heat by day and sharp, numbing cold by night, was a pit. And within this deep wide circumference hundreds of souls waited for their deaths. The hole that led into this place was not only the entrance but also the only exit. These souls would look to the heinously teasing sky daring those to try and climb to freedom.

And the idea was simple enough.

This hope was chained to all the unfortunate souls-a hope that caused them ultimate despair and frequently took their lives. The despair would engrave itself on their souls, gradually ripping and gnawing on their sanity. They would forget the soft caress of light and forcibly be plunged into the embrace of darkness. Agonizingly slow, they would become apathetic beings-no longer living, but uselessly striving to survive in a place where their deaths came sooner than the inevitable.

There was no order here, every soul rampaged freely-and this would be their only freedom. Murder, rape, disease, the rapid decreasing of human morality, a place that turned once proud, brilliant men into filthy, savage beasts. As time passed, this pit would be the only world these poor souls could comprehend. Existing in a wild place, predators clawing and maiming each other for a position at the top of a throne that remained a dream. No matter who was stronger, a knife to the heart will bring any mortal man instant death.

It was no exaggeration that this prison be titled Hell on Earth.

And this hellish place was what a man called home for nearly all his life.

The prison had been taken his name, his basic humane emotions, and was still taking its sweet time devouring his sanity. Killing a man was no different than breathing to him. At times, he found himself relishing in his victims' pain. Watching them writhe and squirm in his iron grip, watching them plead and cry, degrading themselves into worms-and he would snap their necks that instant; such cruel acts made him feel powerful, unstoppable.

The prisoners were afraid of him, and he remained alone. Due to his massive size and towering height he was often called a monster; a nickname he allowed if it kept him alive another day. He believed all traces of his humanity had evaporated decades ago-and sometimes he questioned whether it was ever there at all. Perhaps it would've taken a few more years for the darkness to completely engulf his heart, the dark tendrils ready to take the last piece of his humanity, were it not for the sound of cheerful laughter that halted its movements.

He sat on the stone floor in his cell; the barred door was closed though he could open it whenever he wished. He stared across the large space in the center of the prison, significantly lit by sunlight, to the opposite side of his own cell. There, within a chamber, was the woman and the two small children.

He remembered when the woman first appeared years ago. He couldn't drown out the roars of men, who had been deprived of the opposite sex. At the time she was heavily pregnant, so the prison doctor made sure to keep her locked in that cell. A few months later a baby would be born. A few years later another would be damned to the pit. A three year old, whom the woman graciously accepted as her own. Now the children were five.

The man watched the children giggle; such a soft, odd noise that echoed along stonewalls. He had heard them cry, shriek, even curse-much to the mother's dismay. But this was the first time he heard them laugh. He couldn't, ever, remember hearing laughter in the prison-unless it was that of a predator preparing to indulge in beastly behavior.

The man focused his gaze, examining their faces. An unusual tingling sensation pulsed through his flesh as he felt his cheeks warm. They, both, were smiling and their big brown eyes were wide with excitement and another emotion he couldn't depict. The smaller child had short scruffy dark brown hair, a slight olive-toned skin, rosy cheeks, and sanguine lips.

The other had short black curly hair-like a sheep's coat-brown skin, reddish brown lips, and a tiny mole beside her left eye. In his eyes they almost morphed into little animals; the kind that do no harm. The children were tossing back and forth a jagged edged dagger. Each time one of them missed catching the, rather dangerous, weapon a fit of laugher escaped their small lips.

The man's brows burrowed, he wondered what could be so amusing as throwing a dagger at each other. And he could tell they were genuinely delighted by their activity. The mother was smiling as well, though her eyes held a great deal of concern. Perhaps she wanted to stop them, but couldn't bring herself to end their game.

The man let out a low snort, no matter how much they liked the game it was still hazardous-she should stop them before they accidently stab each other. He looked back at the children who now stared back at him. He held their gaze; surprised they caught his eavesdropping from such a distance. The child with sheep-like hair lifted her hand and hesitantly waved at him, causing the man to tilt his head in question. Did this child not know who he was? What he did to people? How he killed people? Why would the child even bother acknowledging his existence in this forsaken place?

He though it best to ignore the child's gesture, yet his body betrayed him as he came to the realization that he was waving back.


	2. Chapter 2

_Present_

The barrel of the gun rams against my skull; instantly, my vision blurs and black spots begin to spread throughout my sight. A loud ringing sound pulses awfully in my head. I don't feel the impact of falling to the ground. 'Move!' my conscious screams at me, and I try. Rolling onto my stomach I try crawling away but I keep slipping in and out of unconsciousness. And the last thing I see before succumbing to oblivion is the stranger's raging eyes and the certainty that he is prepared to kill me.

* * *

><p>I awake to the sound of automatic fire. Startled, my eyes snap open and I hastily take in my surroundings. Closest to me is a desk, topped with folders, papers, and a few laptops. Attached to the wall above the desk are a group of monitors displaying various areas I've never seen. I lye on a very large makeshift bed; most likely meant for a large person. Beside the bed are crates, boxes, and large duffel bags.<p>

Further away from me a rush of water gushes out of an opening within a massive dark and grimy concrete wall. The area is dim, lit with very few floodlights. Nothing is familiar. My eyes then focus onto the pack of men standing by a rail that probably overlooks a manmade river. All of them wear similar, military-like, uniforms except one.

He is the largest of them, perhaps standing over six foot five, with a tremendous build that would put heavy weight fighters to shame. Even though the man is quite a distance from me I can sense the militant and dominant aura radiating from him, like feeling the burn from the sun's rays. The atmosphere is already thick, almost suffocating.

The air is scented with a slight hint of fresh blood, mixed with bitterness and humidity, a sewage scent. Now I know I'm definitely underground, which means escaping this predicament would not be easy. The giant holds a gun in his big hands and stuffs some kind of gadget into a man's jacket pocket before lightly poking him in the chest and shooting him the abdomen. The man flips over the rail and falls into the rushing river.

My first instinct is to panic. I'll admit, living as a thief does not always guarantee I'll end up in the best situations, but this is the first time I've ever felt trapped. I would love to panic, but I was taught better than that. I can hear my mentor's lovely voice in my mind, reminding me of the many rules to being a thief.

"Never get upset. You'll do and say stupid shit and get yourself into deeper shit." I continue to observe the shirtless colossal figure; the most standing out feature is the strange mask covering a majority of his face.

The device is terribly creepy, having thick spider-like tubes that form a mouthpiece, much like the jaw of an anglerfish. His skin is quite dull, though the lighting can be blamed. His skin is also branded with scars-some fresh, a plethora of old. His body is greatly muscular, as if the man never missed a day of training.

I search through the archives of my brilliant mind, trying to decipher who this person is. And trust me when I say I know a lot of people whether they're from Gotham or not. Yet I found nothing, not even a clue. I know these men aren't your typical criminal-they seemed too intellectual to be mere criminals. Each face is stern, all stand straight, and they hold themselves with absolution, perhaps an unwavering resolution. They all revere the man with the mask, who stares right at me.

"You are conscious," his voice is mechanical and somewhat raspy with a heavy English accent. Though his tone is not as deep, especially with a body like that, it is still overflowing with masculinity-holding plenty of maturity, intelligence, and overall authority.

"I apologize for the rude awakening," he says while walking towards me; his combat boots plus his weight cause unnerving thumping sounds as well as faint vibrations with each step he takes.

"I hope the wound upon you forehead is not too troublesome."

'Wound?' I touch my forehead and feel a bandage along my fingertips. Then the memories flood into attention. Some bastard knocked me out. I was with Selina when the shoot out began. We separated to avoid being caught by Daggot's thugs. And I got caught! Shit!

"Who are you?" I inquire, rather too forcefully; if anyone were forcing anything it'd be the big guy.

"Who we are does not concern you." He responds and stares down at me now that he's mere inches away from the bed.

"I don't mean your little band of men, I mean _you_ specifically," the skin around his eyes wrinkle slightly-is he smirking under that mask?

"Who _I_ am, does not concern you."

"Well what does concern me, can I know where I am?"

"It would not be to my benefit for you to know, Miss Raja Hughes." Fuck, so he knows who I am, which is a complete disadvantage. But I'm not letting this conversation end without at least a little information.

"As for what does concern you, for now, nothing," I mentally suck my teeth, smart-ass. As if this dude would keep me here for nothing. Selina is involved with these people. They probably noted me as her friend, and the only way I could be useful to them, as her friend, is if I'm a hostage.

"You're not from around here, are you?" an obvious question, I know. And he knew too, his eyes squint as if he already knew what I'm thinking. One of the big guy's minions stand beside him, his countenance is devoid of any emotion whatsoever-a feat I've never seen. What kind of depressing story does he have?

"The room is ready, sir." The stoic man says, even his voice is plain and monotonous with an accent that I can't quite pinpoint.

"She will remain there until further notice," the masked man says motioning with his hand that I get up. Upon doing so Mr. blank face grasps my wrists and ties a thick rope around both.

"Keep in mind her reputation, Barsad." I turn to the big man, a sweet smile on my lips.

"I promise to be the most darling little hostage." His eyes squint cautiously.

"On second thought," the masked man says stopping his minion's movements with a brawny hand upon his shoulder,

"She will remain here for now."

* * *

><p>AN: Greetings! if you've read this far, thanks for reading! as i'm sure you noticed each chapter is either past or present. Each week two chapters will be posted, because in order to understand the present the past is super duper important.


	3. Chapter 3

_Past_

"Don't wave at 'im!" Talia scolded, hastily grabbing Maria's wrist and forcing it down. Maria glared at her, and snatched her wrist out of Talia's grip.

"Well I'm not gonna ignore 'im, he was starin' at us," Maria retorted,

"He's dangerous, momma said don't even look at 'im, why don't ya listen ta her for once?" Maria sucked her teeth. This wasn't the first time the man had been staring at them. It was laughably obvious whenever he did so, and the children would usually pay him no mind, but Maria didn't see any reason not to acknowledge him.

Her mother said the man was dangerous, but he never laid a single finger on them. He never approached them or even came anywhere near their cell. He never spoke a word to them. All he has ever done was stare. Compared to the other prisoners, who occasionally glared at the children, especially their mother as if any day they would rip her to shreds, the man within the cell opposite to them was incredibly passive in Maria's eyes.

"We should talk ta 'im," Maria whispered so her mother wouldn't hear. Talia's eyes widened and her brows rose in disagreement.

"He's always alone, we can be, like, his first friends,"

"No. Don't be stupid!"

"Talia," their mother said sternly. Talia's cheeks flushed,

"Sorry Maria-" Talia drops her tone to a rushing whisper,

"You're crazy."

"But he looks lonely,"

"He wants ta be alone,"

"No one wants ta be alone," Maria began to bat her eyelashes, pouting her lips in a pleading gesture. Talia sighed heavily, looking at the ceiling to avoid her sister's begging expression.

"Please Talia," Talia bit her bottom lip in frustration. She knew, even if she said no, Maria was going to talk to the man anyway.

"How are we suppose ta talk ta 'im when we can't leave the cell?" Talia asked.

"We just have ta wait for 'im to come close."

"I don't know, we really shouldn'"

"Come one Talia, the worst he can do is ignore us."

"Oh, alright. But if somethin' bad happens it's your fault." Maria smiled in delight and hugged her sister. Talia reluctantly smiled as well and rolled her eyes.

As days turned into weeks and weeks into months the girls were sure an opportunity to confront the man would be impossible. Whenever Maria tried to acknowledge him he would ignore her. She even tried yelling to him, frightening her mother completely, since it was forbidden to speak to the other prisoners.

Talia gained the nerve to throw a small pebble at the man, hitting him directly on the forehead. Yet he shrugged off her attempt for attention and continued to disregard them. Yet they didn't give up. Eventually pebbles turned into rocks and rocks into other, larger, objects that would definitely hurt on impact. Maria couldn't prevent Talia from acting out so violently; she found it strange that Talia now wanted the man's attention as much as she did.

One day she even went so far as to try and break out of the cell, scaring the hell out of their mother. On that day the man did notice her attempt, and finally decided it was time to deal with these annoying brats. Otherwise they'd do something incredibly foolish and get themselves killed. He waited until nighttime when the prisoners were less active and the darkness would cover his movements so that no one knew what he was up to. As he ventured closer to the children's cell he caught sight of the mother. She was sleeping on the floor; her back against a stonewall as the children sat on the bed playing with what looked like a makeshift doll. When he finally reached the cell door, he sat on the ground and softly called out to them,

"I'd appreciate if you'd stop throwing rocks at me." they're little heads whipped towards the cell door, their eyes widened with shock.

"Its 'im, he came!" Maria quietly exclaimed, jumping out of the bed and running towards the door. Talia followed and both sat on the floor. Even from a distance they knew he was a large man but they didn't realize how big he was, having to crane their necks up just to see his face.

"I'm Maria and this is Talia, what's your name?" the man burrowed his brows in puzzlement. Why was she telling him this? Why did she want to know anything about him?

"I…I don't have a name." the man said rather awkwardly.

"Ya don't have a name? Why?" Talia asks. 'Was it important to have a name?' the man wondered. A name certainly didn't ensure his survival. Yet the child made it seem wrong not to have a name.

"I just don't have one, I don't know why," He replied,

"No more rock throwing, okay." And as the man began to stand Maria panicked and quickly conveyed

"We'll give ya a name." the man halts.

"If, if ya stay we'll give ya a name. Please don't go." The man stared at Maria.

"What do you want from me?"

"Friendship." She said with a smile. He felt the blood rushing to his face, as a surge of warmth filled his cheeks.

"You want to be friends…with me? Why?"

"Aren'cha ya lonely by yourself?" he never considered that. He wondered if had ever felt loneliness. Aside from an old stuffed animal he had as a child he was alone and was used to being along. He never fostered the idea of loneliness.

"What name…what name would you give me?" the man asked.

"Well we can't come up with it now, we need time ta think a one." Talia retorted.


	4. Chapter 4

_Present_

"No, no, I like having my own room." I proclaim as my heart beats two times faster; I'm not sure how long I can keep up this calm façade.

"Are you hungry Miss Hughes?" the masked man questions, ignoring my statement. He sits in a cushioned chair, which he positions in front of me. I sit back on the bed, feeling awfully small. How is it, even when he's sitting, he remains intimidating?

"No, I'm not hungry. I don't think anyone in my position would want to eat." How could I possibly keep any food down with this monstrosity roaming around? I still don't now what they'll gain from me. Selina isn't the kind of person to be swayed over hostages. She's too smart to think irrationally. Perhaps these people threatened to kill her should she not comply with their demands. Which begs the question of what they would need a hostage for? Especially when having easier methods to acquire whatever they want.

"It is blatantly obvious when you are musing," the big guy says, causing me to suck my teeth- a bad habit that will follow me to my grave.

"Miss Selina Kyle was supposed to die today." I look him straight in the eyes and try to mimic his voice by cupping a hand over my mouth, dropping my tone a few octaves and put on an English accent.

"It was blatantly obvious," the skin around his eyes crinkle, expressing his amusement. I know he deliberately said that just to push my buttons, and honestly it almost worked.

Nothing gets to me more than someone hurting my friends.

"What more do you want from her? You've got Bruce Wayne's fingerprints." I ask, though I already know why. Someone with a huge, secretive, agenda wouldn't want loose ends. The big man remains quiet. I can feel his eyes absorbing my every move, reading my eyes, and maybe glimpsing into my mind as well. I decide to take a different route to my information gathering. This man is not going to give away anything, no matter how I disguise my questions. He's observant and analytical. Right now, he could be mentally adding to his collection of info he has on me for all I know.

So I cut to the chase.

"You don't need me as a hostage. You don't need Selina anymore. What do you want from me? How could I possibly be of any use to you?" the masked man crosses his large arms over his broad chest, and leans back in the chair. His eyes wander off of me for a moment, seemingly contemplating something. The man named Barsad stands a few feet behind him, his eyes to the floor. I notice the red, ragged, scarf around his neck. It kind of enhances his already badass uniform. I look back to the big man who now gazes at me.

"You are a professional burglar, impersonator, escapologist, and hacker. You have been educated in various forms of martial arts. You are familiar with a variety of weapons. Your knowledge of the underground world could fill an entire library. Miss Kyle is useful for thievery but you have too much to offer." I scrunch my brows in confusion,

"I'm not a hostage?"

"I never said you were, Miss Hughes." I can feel the blood rushing out of my face,

"…You're going to keep me here."

"You will be useful to me in due time. For now, you will remain under my supervision."

"And what happens when I'm not useful anymore, you'll kill me?" I could feel the words rush out of my mouth. My lungs feel heavy as I find it harder to breath.

"Do not indulge your imagination too much, Miss Hughes." He says in a playful tone. A meaty hand signals the minion behind him to come forth.

"Show Miss Hughes her room then feed her. I want her back here in one hour. Also remove the restraints; I am sure our guest will not be making any rash choices. "

"Yes, sir." Barsad says with a nod of his head. I stand and hold out my hands as he cuts through them with a dagger.

* * *

><p>The room is a lot better than what I imagined. Instead of dilapidated, moldy smelling, and rat infested everything was pristine, orderly, and someone must've sprayed lavender scented febreeze. But the overall color of the room is a boring, lifeless grey. Barsad let me walk around freely within the confined space. There are no windows. The ceiling is rather low, perhaps seven or eight feet above the floor. A twin-sized bed frame occupies the farthest corner from the entrance; sheets and a blanket are folded on top of the mattress. Opposite to the bed is another door. Other than that the room is entirely empty.<p>

"No TV, no computer, not even books or magazines…you're awful kidnappers," I say

"Food, water, and clothes will be brought to you. There will be guards outside the door, they are ordered to kill you should you try escaping."

"Try? If I want to escape I will, love." Barsad exhales through his nose wearily. I take his momentary silence to look over his features. His hair is a short, black, messy heap upon his head. His eyes are a dark brown and the skin underneath his bottom lashes is awfully murky, as if he hadn't slept well for years. His build is the absolute opposite of the big guy. Though slim, he maintains enough muscle, I assume, for combat purposes. I wonder if I can take him on?

"Please. Miss Hughes. Don't cause any trouble," he says as if knowing I wanted to attack him,

"I won't hesitate to kill you." With that said he urges me out the room closing the door behind him. Barsad hadn't bothered blindfolding my eyes when he brought me here, which probably means they really do plan on killing me later. I certainly wouldn't let someone know the layout of my house if I planned on freeing them. I can see the route from here to the large open space with the waterfall. I note all of the other corridors we had passed-any of them could be an exit. Every bone in my body is screaming at me to clock this dude and take off. But I'm absolutely sure that even if I got out of this place the masked man would find me-he seems like the ubiquitous type. For now I'll stick around and find out what these guys are up to.

Barsad takes me into a small crude cafeteria area filled with a musky smelling and rude-looking species. Men. Oddly very few wore the militant uniforms; most are dressed in casual street clothes. Maybe the ones in uniform are the real deal and everyone else are just extras. Barsad takes a hold of my forearm and pulls me close,

"Whoa, what do you think you're doing?" I sneer,

"I'm assuring your safety, Miss Hughes," he says bluntly

"I can take care of myself." And I shrug his hand away. I've had to deal with men all my life and I fear none of them-other than the masked man. What living thing with a brain wouldn't be afraid of him?

"Why does my safety matter?" I query and continue towards, what looks like, a buffet line.

"What use are you if not in peak condition?" Barsad remarks.

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks for the lovely reviews! Also I apologize for not updating sooner, I kind of had a little writer's block going on. But now that my creative juices are flowing I will be sure to have the next two chapters out soon :)


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